To Hope Rather Than To Fear

Fear has been humanity’s constant companion. It is a guardian, often wise, sometimes reckless. Yet, when reason loses its grip, fear can morph into an irrational force. Such was the plight of Marjorie Goff. In the twilight of the 1940s, she retreated into a solitary fortress, emerging only twice in three decades. Her prison was agoraphobia, the dread of open spaces. For Marjorie, the world outside was a yawning chasm of anxiety, an inversion of reality.

Most of us do not dwell in such extreme shadows. Our fears are more familiar demons: failure, solitude, illness, mortality. Of late, I have been contemplating political fear. As Corey Robin astutely observes, this fear is a potent force, capable of shaping nations, elevating leaders, and suppressing dissent. Its architects are masters of illusion, conjuring phantoms to galvanize and divide. Aristotle understood the mechanics of this terror: “it is the offspring of perceived powerlessness.” And W.E.B DuBois wrote, “human beings at heart are desperately afraid of something…of losing their jobs, being declassed, degraded, or actually disgraced; of losing their hopes, their savings, their plans for their children; of the actual pangs of hunger, of dirt, or crime.” 

Republics are as susceptible to the tides of human emotion as any individual. Periods of collective ire and disillusionment can swell into waves, threatening to breach the sturdy levee of constitutional order. Fear often proves a more potent force than reason, driving citizens to defy the careful balances and compromises upon which countries are founded. When the recalcitrant defenders of the Lost Cause in the late nineteenth century or the bigoted architects of the Holocaust in the twentieth century stripped their fellow human beings of life and dignity, they fractured the delicate bonds of civil society. Today, the demagogue who traffics in xenophobia and misinformation similarly erodes the foundations of our interconnected world, exposing the fragility of our democratic institutions. Yet, it is precisely in these darkest hours that hope emerges as our most essential compass.

Historically, the Christian ethos has served to guide the nation through its darkest hours. The civil rights movement, for instance, was deeply rooted in a faith that affirmed the inherent dignity of all human beings. It was a hope grounded in scripture that fueled the tireless work of countless activists.

Perhaps we understand the profound impact of such hope. That the coward is a prisoner of fear. And that conversely, the brave soul is characterized by courage, which in this sense, is the embodiment of hope. Fear is fixated on evil, while hope is oriented toward the good. Fear contracts the soul; hope expands it. Fear is backward-looking, consumed by grievance; hope is forward-looking, driven by possibility. Fear is divisive, erecting walls of prejudice; hope is unifying, constructing bridges of understanding.

Yet, in our present era marked by partisan rancor and cultural polarization, the resonance of this hope in the public square seems muted. It is a paradox of our time. Never has the language of faith been more pervasive in political discourse, yet its transformative power appears diminished. The politicization of faith, the proliferation of competing interpretations of scripture, and the growing secularization of society have all contributed to a dilution of the moral clarity that once characterized the public square. Moreover, the Christian community itself is not immune to the divisions that plague our nation.

Nevertheless, amidst the noise and confusion, there remains a profound reservoir of hope within the Christian tradition. A hope that transcends partisan lines, seeks common ground, and affirms the inherent worth of every individual. It is a hope that calls us to love our neighbors as ourselves, to pursue justice, and to work for the common good. Christian hope, when lived out authentically, can be a powerful force for reconciliation and renewal. It can remind us that our ultimate allegiance is to God, and that our earthly conflicts must be pursued with a spirit of humility and grace. The challenge lies in translating these timeless principles into the vernacular of our contemporary political landscape. It demands a form of leadership that is both spiritually grounded and politically astute, a capacity to speak truth to power without alienating the powerless. It requires a willingness to engage in the messy work of compromise and consensus-building while holding fast to core convictions. 

The story of America is, in many ways, a chronicle of overcoming adversity. From the dehumanization of slavery to the horrors of civil war, from the crucible of economic depression to the convulsions of a global pandemic, our nation has been repeatedly tested. It is easy to succumb to cynicism and despair. It is all too tempting to retreat into our own corners, to focus on our individual concerns, and to lose sight of the larger story unfolding around us. But it is precisely at such moments that we must summon the courage to hope.  In the end, the renewal of our nation may well depend on the renewal of our hope.